


Dick Measuring Competition

by markipwiwer



Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Celine mention, Duel jerking, Flirting, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Non consensual gropping, Size Kink, actual dick measuring competition, blowjob, implied sexual trauma, touch starved Author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 18:17:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markipwiwer/pseuds/markipwiwer
Summary: My QPP and canonmate, Vixyrules, said that Wilford wouldn’t have a bigger dick than the Author. I said fuck that and fuck you, here’s four thousand words proving you wrong.





	Dick Measuring Competition

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I always write the longest stuff when I’m writing for friends?

Wilford was struggling with the straw in his overly fruity alcoholic beverage, side-eyeing a figure that had seemingly just appeared at the bar next to him.

The man was surprisingly under-dressed for the establishment, and Wilford had to look around at the other patrons for a moment just to make sure he was where he thought he was. How did the guy get into this place with a black hoodie and jeans?

Oh well. The guy put his hand up to the bartender, signalling for a drink. He didn’t specify what drink or how he was going to pay, but he seemed satisfied with the shot he was poured anyway. He downed it quickly before opening a notepad full of almost illegible scribblings and started scribbling even more at a rapid pace.

Wilford leaned over, right into the guys personal space and that got him to turn around, giving Wilford a scowling look.

Oh. Well, that made sense.

“Funny, your face is incredibly familiar but I don’t seem to recognise you, friend. Come here often?”

The man with the familiar face rolled his eyes, shaking off his hoodie and closing his book.

“Great. Another one. Just what I needed.”

His young voice was laced with sarcasm. He put his hand up for another drink, and Wilford lifted his almost empty glass to signal the same.

“Oh bartender, I’ll get this next round on my tab please!”

A snort from beside him.

“I can pay for my own drinks, man.”

“Please, you don’t know me, but I’d like to get to know you better.”

Wilford winked, a real juicy wink right out of a late night call girl ad. The guy merely groaned.

“Christ. Fine, okay. Name’s Author.”

The Author seemed to realise he wasn’t going to shake Wilford easily, so he sat back a little and hoped the pink weirdo would dish out enough shots to forget about everything in the morning. Of course, he could merely write himself out of the situation or out of sobriety, but he had mentally committed himself to actually going out in public for once. Even if was cheating a little with stringing up the bouncer and bribing the bartender.

“Lovely to meet you, Author. I’m Wilford Warfstache.”

Wilford stuck out his hand in greeting but the Author just squinted at him.

“... I know that name. You’re, uh, you have that show. Or, you’ve been on the news. A lot.”

Wilford laughed heartily as the bartender put both of their drinks down.

“Both, actually! I’m technically wanted for a great number of dastardly deeds that I had no part in, but the whole Iplier thing seems to get me out of some hairy situations. And I’ve had a couple of shows now. I’m actually working on something at the moment where -“

Author closed his eyes and shook his head, putting his hand out for Wilford to stop.

“Shut up. Fuck. I don’t care about why you’re well known. If anything, that just makes me want to be around you less. I don’t like drawing attention to myself.”

Wilfords smile dropped mildly.

“Hmm. My apologies then.”

He turned back to his drink. He’d never really had someone so thoroughly turn him down before. It made him feel... not happy. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one bit.

-

Wilford found himself on the dance floor sandwiched between a rather good-looking couple who had their attention completely on him. The man and the woman, both of whom he’d forgotten the names of, had implied that he should go back to their place for a bit of fun.

But Wilford kept looking back at the bar. The Author was still sitting there, hoodie back over his head and swaying with intoxication a little. He was still writing, too.

There was a hand on Wilfords ass and there were faces all around him, faces he wasn’t particularly fond of, and he was being fondled every way to Sunday but the strings of curiosity were tugging at his brain, and someone was whispering in his ear.

“Mm, you like this, do you?”

Wilford cocked an eyebrow.

“Whatever gives you that impression?”

“Only your friend down here. He seems pretty excited.”

Wilford almost had to laugh at the lady because he would have taken the compliment for what it was on any other night, but tonight it was just... different. He looked back towards the bar.

“I’m not hard, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You’re not? Well then, I’d love to know exactly what you have hiding somewhere a little more private...”

Her voice wasn’t pretty or sweet. It sent shivers down his spine, and not in a good way.

“That’s alright, perhaps another time.”

The hand at his crotch grew tighter, and nails dug in. Honestly, this usually would have been his thing. Being publicly dominated and claimed by such a pretty woman. Black hair, in a short cut, definitely shorter than him but she seemed like she towered over him.

“Why not?”

Wilford reached down to grab her wrist. Not tight, but just enough so that he could move her away. Even though he didn’t move her away.

“Because I can’t right now. I’ve got other business to attend to.”

The husband had gone off, clearly interested in other people, and that made Wilford nervous for some reason. She reminded him of... something or rather.

“I don’t believe that. You have a girlfriend? Come on, my husband doesn’t have to be around, if that’s what putting you off.”

She was getting pushy, and finally Wilford pushed her hand away and turned around to face her.

“Do you very much mind? I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

His voice wobbled a little bit. Why was this happening now? This had never been a problem before. His eyes instinctively darted to the bar, whereby some miracle, he managed to catch the Authors glance. But the Author just looked back at his note book, and Wilfords heart dropped. He was tugged forward and down by his shirt collar, his bowtie becoming skewed in the process.

“Do you fucking mind?! Don’t embarrass yourself! You’ve been out here all night, all over me and now you just wanna ditch? I don’t think so. You want this.”

She pulled him into a kiss. It was rough, and it made Wilford want to throw up. And then, there was nothing.

-

There was no music. It wasn’t the same building, it was colder, Wilford was almost certain he’d accidentally teleported. Damn, he needed to start wearing a watch that worked. He wiped off his lips, smearing trace amounts of her lipstick on his yellow shirt sleeve. He shuddered, and mentally blamed it on the breeze.

A light flicked on, a single bulb dangling from the wooden roof and suddenly he could see a little better. He seemed to be in a hut, or a cabin. Windows were cracked and it was so drafty, and note books were scattered around the place. In fact, there were words carved into the walls. It was like the whole place was a shitty, lived-in book.

“She seemed like a riot.”

A voice from a desk in the corner of the room.

“Author?”

“Yeah. What, you’ve never teleported before?”

“No, I have, just not... What year is it?”

“Same year. Same evening, actually. Don’t tell me, your powers send you out off spacetime or something.”

Wilford felt a pang of... something. Defensiveness, maybe. Was that something he should be able to control? Wait, no, that shouldn’t have been the question.

“Why did you teleport me? I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Nah, you’re not. You’re kinda unhinged, actually. Anyone ever tell you you’re crazy?”

Wilford grunted.

“No.”

A small lie.

“Well, anyway, you can shack up here if you haven’t got anywhere else to go. Since you can’t take care of yourself.”

The Author seemed to like reiterating how high and mighty he was.

Wilford strode up to the desk and pointed an accusatory finger at the Author.

“Listen here, pal. I don’t need babysitting. I’ve taken care of myself for seventy odd years, I don’t need some young upstart Ego ripping me out of reality because he thinks he knows what’s good for me.”

The Author just smirked.

“Aw, Warfstache, I thought you liked me! You wanted to get to know me better, right? Here’s your chance! I even skipped the formalities and took you right back to my place.”

Wilford rolled his eyes.

“Do you at least have alcohol?”

“You think I live in an actual cabin in the woods without a giant fucking booze stash?”

Wilford let out a bark of a laugh and walked over to the raggedy couch, slumping down in it. The Author pulled half a bottle of something with the label scratched off towards Wilford, which landed right next to him.

“Hope you like spiced rum.”

“It’s my favourite, actually. No chaser, I presume?”

The Author scoffed, taking a swig of his own bottle.

“I thought you had balls. Or was that just your huge dick?”

Wilford gave the Author the most snide look he could, which wasn’t saying much.

“I never claimed that.”

“That lady had some opinions -“

“That lady,” Wilford interrupted sternly, “had no business having any such opinions.”

“What, never been inappropriately touched before?”

“No, and I’m sure you think I’m the biggest square out there for not just enjoying myself, correct?”

“I didn’t say that. I think it’s fucked up. That’s why I wrote you here. Just didn’t realise your bar for trauma was so low.”

Wilford sighed, long as hard through his nose. Was this guy just pushing his buttons or was he actually an idiot?

“I’ve been through plenty. I’ve been through war.”

“What, and a big guy like you, walking around dick-first, you never got bad advances?”

Wilford had to think about that. Well, maybe the odd patient here and there who he pitied and felt too bad about to sleep with, but for the most part he really was usually down for anything. He saw some sort of appeal in most people. And in the later years, most people who might not have met his standards usually knew it and didn’t have the confidence to approach him anyway.

“You’re putting an awful lot of emphasis on my Jolly Rodger there, friend.”

“I bet there isn’t even that much to talk about. Bet it’s all just for show. Who has that big of a personality and isn’t trying to compensate?”

Okay, Wilford was starting to think the Author was actually trying to push his buttons.

Wilford took a swig from his own bottle of rum, grateful for the vague buzz and the warm feeling going down his throat, settling in his tummy. It was familiar and comforting in a very strange setting.

“You seem very confident on your ability to tell what I am or am not endowed with for someone who has never been intimate with me.”

The Author made a face that looked like it tried to be disgusted. But it didn’t quite get there.

“Gross.”

Wilford feigned offence, putting his hand over his heart.

“Gross? How am I gross?!”

The Author gestured vaguely at Wilford.

“You’re all... fat, and your colours hurt my eyes. You’re a total lunatic, you’re - you’re totally not my type. You’re gross.”

The Author took another few gulps from his bottle, attempting to appear nonchalant. He wasn’t very successful.

“Mhm. That sounded convincing. And I’ll have you know that I am not fat. It’s muscle and muffin top, and I pull it off well.”

Wilford crossed one leg over the other, sitting almost daintily.

“I still think I’m bigger than you.”

Wilford cocked an eyebrow at the Authors mutter.

“Oh, was that what you were attempting to imply? Well, I don’t care much for competition over things we can’t change, so I won’t bother to challenge you on that.”

That was only half true. He liked games, games that both parties were pretending not to play. But literal dick measuring contests were a tad below Wilfords standards.

“That sounds like you absolutely wanna make it a competition.”

The Author has a pressing smirk on his face, almost too excited.

“You sound like you just want to see my willy. You can just ask, you know.”

Author groaned and took another swig of rum, the buzz clearly getting to him now.

“Fuck sake. You’re no fun.”

“I’d just rather not engage in this strange Boy Scout ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ facade. Unless, of course, that’s exactly what you’re into.”

Wilford uncrossed his legs and sat, spread legged on the couch, taking one last sip of his rum, attempting to not overdo it, and putting the bottle down on the ground so it didn’t tip over.

The Author would have looked offended if he weren’t so red in the face.

“Hey, fuck no! You’re a dirty old pervert, y’know that? Just shut up.”

Wilford shrugged.

“Maybe so. If you’re so upset with the notion, I should be on my way then. I wouldn’t want to offend you sensibilities any further...”

Wilford stood as he spoke, making something of a show of getting up and stretching, letting his shirt untuck just slightly. Just as he headed towards the door, the Author stood up from his chair at the desk, accidentally knocking over his bottle and soiling a few books in the process. He clearly had other priorities though.

“- WAIT! Wait, you - you fuck, goddamn it, fucking asshole, just... stay. Alright? Stay here.”

There was something strained in the Authors voice that Wilford caught onto, and it made his heart pang ever so slightly. Pity? Caring? Who knew. But it was something, enough to pull him in by those strings of curiosity again.

“...why?”

“Because it’s - ugh, it’s not safe out and, like, you don’t even know how to get out from here and it’s... it’s this whole thing and it’s complicated and you can leave if you really want but you should just stay. For now.”

The Author looked troubled to say the least, swaying on his feet and guilt spread across his face like a disease. Wilfords heart softened.

“Alright.”

With a few puffs of smoke and a small yelp from the Author, Wilford had transported them to be sitting down on the couch, pulling Author into his lap, facing each other.

The Author struggled.

“Hey, I -“

“Tell me what you want.”

“Don’t be a prick.”

“For an Author, you seem to be awful at using your words.”

The Author shuffled a little bit in Wilfords lap, almost pawing at Wilfords crotch, toying with his zipper like it wasn’t a direct line to his cock.

“Show me.”

That voice, the weird desperation, that was... weirdly arousing in ways it maybe shouldn’t have been, but Wilford had enough consent. He’d been very sure about it, in fact, to the point of annoyance. 

“Go on then. You too.”

Wilford gestured to the Authors own crotch. They were really doing it, huh? Just comparing dicks for the sake of it. Well, not just for the sake of it, but because the Author seemed to get off on it for some reason.

A hot flush ran across the Authors face as he hastily got Wilfords zipper and button undone and found that, as per usual, Wilford wore no underwear. His half hard cock caught the breeze as it sat there, chubby and glorious.

Wilford was curious now, with the look the Author was giving him - or rather, couldn’t give him because he was staring at something else. So Wilford took the initiative and practically ripped open the Authors jeans, tugging down the underwear.

The Author was different, certainly, and one might say that it was he that needed to compensate. Smaller than Wilford by a significant amount, not nearly as girthy and lacking in length, but it was almost quaint. Not to mention, the Author was hard, and that was flattering in some strange way, and Wilford had the strangest urge to wrap his big hand around the Authors dick and make him beg.

The Author was breathing heavily, struggling to make eye contact even if he wanted to. So, in some attempt to break the ice, Wilford tilted the Author chin up with his hand and kissed him. It was a careful kiss, slow and deliberate, testing the waters. At first, the Author seemed like he wanted to pull away. But the promise of intimacy, let alone contact with a real person, even if he was a lunatic, was too good to pass up.

When Wilford pulled away, the Author seemed to be trembling a little.

“You taste like shit.”

“I taste like your rum.”

The Author didn’t seem to be making moves any time soon, clearly a bit overwhelmed with actually getting what he wanted and having to be somewhat honest about it, Wilford gave himself a few long strokes for show, bringing himself closer to full hardness. The Author couldn’t pull his eyes away from Wilfords intimidating size, and it was only when Wilford wrapped most of his hand around the Authors cock, keeping his own pressed up against it with his palm and thumb, that the Author finally made a noise.

“O-okay, so, maybe you weren’t c-compensating, Jesus, okay...”

Their dicks pressed against each other made their size difference seem all the more dramatic, and that was one hell of an ego boost. Wilford let out a low groan as he stroked the both of them together, using his other hand to stabilise the Authors hips. The alcohol was certainly enhancing things, and he was grateful he never usually had a problem with staying hard while intoxicated like a lot of folk.

Maybe it was their powers. Was it worth finding out? Perhaps another time.

The Author was immediately rutting forward, trying to fuck into the small space that he had, and Wilford just gripped tighter, beginning to breathe heavily himself and tightening his grip, twisting his wrist at a lower point than he usually did for the sake of the Author.

The Author was gripping onto Wilfords shirt, moving his hips back and forth, muttering nonsense under his breath, and Wilford undid the zipper of his hoodie to reveal a pale, scarred chest underneath. Of course, undressing himself at this point would be an inconvenience so he didn’t bother with it, especially since the Author seemed rather caught up.

“Showing some restraint, hmm? It’s alright, Author. You can let it go. Just relax.”

The Author seemed to tense up a little bit more at first, but then Wilford did something almost magical with his hand and the Author just about shouted, it was... it was a lot. He was touch starved, without any real human interaction, and he was going to cum embarrassingly fast. Long before Wilford, most likely. The Author was going to have to... prepare for that.

His thoughts blurred together though as Wilford kept up his pace and, hell, it wasn’t even wet or hot or fast or anything like that, it was just skilled and thorough. And fuck, the way Wilford looked so concentrated on the Authors face, never taking his eyes off him, it was pushing him closer, and that heavy pit was forming in his stomach, as everything was clenching together, and he ripped a small hole in Wilfords shirt with his grip.

Author came, bucking upwards into Wilfords fist and all over Wilfords cock, and that was... he didn’t have it in him to feel guilty just yet, because the waves of orgasm were beautiful and the wetness of his own cum and Wilfords movements were sending him into oversensitivity quickly, and he was squirming.

Wilford looked all too nonplussed about not cumming though, and that wasn’t on.

“Feeling better?”

Rolling his eyes, the Author shuffled out of Wilfords lap and slunk onto the ground between Wilfords legs instead, attempting to wipe some of his cum off of Wilford cock.

“Yeah, yeah, just, lemme suck you off, alright? I’m not selfish.”

Wilford let out a bark of laughter, not the first time this evening, because the Author had some very strange ways of showing his selflessness. But he wasn’t about to decline a free blowjob. Even if the Author was perhaps doing it for the wrong reasons.

The Author wrapped his smaller hand around Wilfords shaft and seemed to immediately encounter a problem. Hmm.

He licked his lips before licking up from the base of Wilfords cock, then swiping his tongue over the head and trying to dip into the slit ever so slightly. His brain registered the taste of precum and that was nice, and he opened his mouth as much as he could and took the tip in.

Wilford groaned and sighed deep, although he could see the Author was struggling a little bit.

“There’s no shame in using your hands, it’s... mmm, it’s alright...”

The Author worked his mouth open, getting slowly and surely about half way down the shaft, and there was no real finesse but there was a lot of enthusiasm and that was, fuck, that was nice, to have someone really trying to please you for the sake of it, and Wilfords eyes fluttered closed as the Author finally gave in and used a hand to stroke along the raft of the shaft while he bobbed and sucked at the head.

Wilford let himself relax fully, not trying to hold back at all because people tended to get very ache-y jaws when he made an effort to last, and he rolled his hips up once or twice and the Author gagged But didn’t seem to mind.

“Author, that’s, that’s very good, I’m... oh, fuck...!”

Wilford tensed, his lower stomach toughening and becoming more pronounced and he tried to keep himself from fucking the Authors poor face. The Author took it like a champ though, as he barely flinched when Wilford came in his mouth, and he held himself there too. Wilfords sounds were low and in the back of his throat, and it was... it was nice for the Author to hear. It was validating in a weird way.

The Author didn’t swallow. He didn’t spit, exactly, more he lifted himself off of Wilfords cock with his mouth open and let everything dribble out, making quite the mess. Though, it was a rather erotic mess and it just made Wilford want to kiss the Author again.

So he did. He dragged the Author up by the scruff of his hoodie and kissed him, no doubt getting his own cum in his moustache but it was nice, it was guttural and gross and lovely. The Author just melted into the kiss with little resistance despite his better judgement.

Wilford pulled away, looking over the both of them, limp cocks still out and damp. Just like Boy Scouts damn it.

“You did quite well. Good job.”

“What, didn’t think I could be any good?”

Wilford scoffed.

“I was very sure to not have any expectations, good or bad. Otherwise I might have been tempted to make a comment about the clear winner of the dick measuring contest.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

“Give me ten minutes to recover and sure, but you might want to prepare yourself.”

Wilford wore a smirk, a shit-eating grin, beginning to enjoy the little pushes and groans the Author gave when he didn’t like being wrong.

Maybe, just maybe, that shitty attitude would grow on him eventually. Only time would tell. Wilford did like a good bratty bottom.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you got an idea or a request for a fic? Come shoot me a message at markipwiwer.tumblr.com!
> 
> If you like what I do, please consider supporting me at www.ko-fi.com/markipwiwer!


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